Oblique Territories Journal – Part 5: Onkaparinga Gorge

This is the fifth instalment of a series of posts covering my a residency at Sauerbier House in Port Noarlunga which commenced in October 2018. As part of my preparation and ongoing research I am following the course of the Onkaparinga/Ngangkiparri river from its source to the sea.

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Onkaparinga Gorge: the (almost) final approach to Port Noarlunga

A preface

This post will be a little shorter than the previous ones which have documented my stops along the course of the Onkaparinga/Ngangkiparri River. The last post (covering trips to Mount Bold Reservoir and Clarendon) was written over three weeks ago and in the interim between then and now I’ve commenced my residency at Sauerbier House in Port Noarlunga. Understandably, time (and energy) have gotten away from me. We still managed to get out to our next designated stop at Onkaparinga Gorge on Sunday, but the time/energy reserves simply can’t produce something as in-depth and literate as the previous posts. I’m just a bit too consumed by the work at hand whilst in residence.

Nevertheless, I’m still committed to completing this journey to the best of my ability and to continue making observations and documenting the process.

Onkaparinga Gorge

I was again joined by my partner Lauren for this trip and the weather was ideal for a long-ish walk through the Onkaparinga National Park. To get to the gorge on foot within a reasonable timeframe, the best access points are via Gates 11 and 12 up Penny Hill Road (via Hackham). Being the weekend we expected a decent amount of visitors, but the more remote access points were certainly going to be less busy than the main gate and the lower lookouts.

We made our way down to the gorge via one of the Sundew Tracks which passed over a plateau of sparse vegetation before coming to a lookout that provided a wonderful vantage point of the gorge and river below. The contrast between the landscape of remnant vegetation and the surrounding pastoral land was striking. Our previous stop in Clarendon was probably only about five kilometres from this point (due east-ish).

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A view looking east from the Sundew Look out.

From here, we continued onto the gorge and river as the track narrowed considerably. The vegetation became much denser as the path zig-zagged down progressively steeper gradients. Eventually we arrived at the river’s edge.

This part of the gorge was a stunning landscape. On our way down we had occasionally heard the river flowing, but from a distance (and a given vantage) it appeared completely motionless. Up close, we could perceive a steady current coursing through the river, evidenced by visible fronts on the surface of the water. At its edges, the sun streamed through a honey-tinged transparance that revealed a silty floor, rocks and felled branches covered in slime and moss. Little insects could occasionally be seen skirting the surface. Large boulders and sloping rocks provided nice vantage points, whilst paths wound through grasses led to little coves and other secluded areas. A swinging rope had been suspended from a branch of a large eucalypt. A platform to swing from it out over the river came in the form of one of the enormous boulders. I took my shoes off and gave it a go, making two complete swings before misjudging my return on the third trip and bashing my toe into a rock. Lauren proceeded to audibly roll her eyes. I do this kind of thing a lot. Thankfully I didn’t injure myself too much and the grotesquely cracked nail on my big toe looked a lot worse than it actually felt.

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Since I knew that this trip on-foot would a bit more intensive than the previous ones, I couldn’t bear the thought of carrying a tripod and mic rig up-and-down about two kilometres of a steep path. Even though Lauren was with me, it seemed like a bit more of an imposition to ask her to carry extra gear when the priority was lightness. So, I kept gear a little more practical this time around: my new Aquarian hydrophones, the Sound Devices Mix Pre 3 recorder and my handheld LS-100 recorder.

This was only the second time I’d used my new hydrophones and the results were absolutely brilliant. There’s a considerably stronger low-to-mid frequency response with these which really brings so much more presence to the recording. This aspect had been sorely lacking from my previous hydrophone pair, and although I could subsequently boost these lower frequency bands in post-production, having all of the audio’s constituent parts revealed in-situ makes the process of monitoring and observing environments so much more enjoyable!

With the hydrophones dropped in the river, the currents which we’d seen were certainly audible – a consistent throb of motion, joined by rivulets of sibilant activity. Surrounding this, water skimmers panned across the hydrophones stereo profile, whilst other creatures prowled the water and floor of the river, occasionally making contact with the mics.

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I made a couple of open-air recordings with the hand-held recorder, positioned with a little tripod. I’ve only listened back to these recordings once (time has been a bit limited this week), but the serenity of this location is certainly evident – the ambience of the river flowing, varieties of finches and wrens sounding out and the chatter of insects.

Although we passed other visitors coming and going on the Sundew Track as we made our way down to the gorge, it seemed remarkable that we managed to have the riverside location to ourselves for a bit over an hour; almost completely uninterrupted.

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An excellent trip – certainly the highlight on these roadtrips.

From here, I’ll be picking up the final stage of the journey by covering Old Noarlunga and then walking along the river to Sauerbier House in Port Noarlunga, followed by a short walk to the estuary.

 

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Notes on Goyder’s Line

I’ve submitted a proposal to perform my work, Goyder’s Line (2014-2017) at this year’s Australasian Computer Music Conference which is taking place in Adelaide this year. I’ve reproduced the text of my proposal/abstract below. Although I’ve regularily commented on the inspiration and development of Goyder’s Line in the past on this blog, I feel as though this text perfectly sums up the essence of the work. With thanks to L for her thoughts and input.

 

The plains that I crossed in those days were not endlessly alike. Sometimes I looked over a great shallow valley with scattered trees and idle cattle and perhaps a meagre stream at its centre. Sometimes, at the end of a tract of utterly uncompromising country, the road rose towards what was unquestionably a hill before I saw ahead only another plain, level and bare and daunting. Gerald Murnane, The Plains (1982)

The plains surrounding the ghost town of Dawson are situated in the lower Flinders Ranges – a vast arena of ochre-coloured earth and sparse vegetation. The presence of distant hills that stretch around the plains appear to reinforce the utter stillness of this place. As if time and motion are suspended or are just inclined to unfold at their own pace. As one spends more time in this place, its unique properties are revealed. A subtle scent carried on a breeze that sends a rustle through dry leaves, the droning buzz of busy insects, the brief relief that lies in the shadows of clouds drifting slowly over the terrain and discrete rumbles that exist just on the audible periphery.

Sometime during 1865, a few kilometres south of where Dawson would be settled twenty-three years later, George Goyder was travelling across the region on horseback. Goyder, who was the South Australian colony’s Surveyor-General had been tasked with the duty of mapping the boundary between areas that received regular rainfall and those that were prone to drought. Based on Goyder’s Line of Rainfall and the subsequent report detailing his findings, farmers were discouraged from planting crops north of the line. In most instances, this advice was not heeded.

At the beginning of the 21st Century as much of Australia was enduring the Millennium Drought (1997-2009), Goyder’s Line became a point of reference for meteorologists, climate scientists and farming communities. During the drought it became evident that the line of rainfall as identified by Goyder in the late 19th Century – whilst being subsequently regarded as a highly accurate tool of analysis and agricultural planning for most of the following century – was requiring reassessment and pointed to a southward trend in light of protracted drought, shifting seasonal rainfall patterns and the impact of anthropogenic climate change.

Goyder’s original line of rainfall and a recent 21st Century revision inform the basis of this electro-acoustic work. The lines – their relative patterns and trajectories- represent the fundamental frequencies of two sawtooth waves, which are routed as inputs to a vocoder and extended effects modules. Although each of the frequencies remain distinct throughout the work, the resulting modulations reveal expansive sonorities and rich harmonic textures. At regular iterations the lines are purposefully suspended in parallel, allowing their harmonic relationship and modulations to unfold and develop.

I regard this work as an ode to the South Australian interior, as defined by Goyder’s original line and its contemporary revision. The interior, at its boundary appears as a vast, seemingly boundless space – rich with the possibility of uncertainty, terror and fascination.

TLR, July 2017

Goyder’s Line v.3 in the works

I’m currently in the process of revising the Goyder’s Line Max/MSP patch with the intention of streamlining the drawing process and adding some additional features to the interface.

In addition to this, the work will be expanded with the incorporation of a video component for a potential exhibition/performance of the work in the future. A summary and audio of of v.2 (2015) can be found below.

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A snippet of the revised Max/MSP patch

Goyder’s Line Version 2 release notes (accompanying the Maurilia Sound Studio Volume 4 edition):

“Goyder’s Line” – recorded in April 2015 – is a composition for Max/MSP, vocoder and effects modules. For its structure and form, the work references the geographical boundary (or isopleth) pioneered by George Goyder in the mid-1880’s to denote and determine patterns of rainfall in South Australia. The work’s sonic character (derived from sawtooth waves and the feedback of a Moog MF-108M module) results in a continuous drone; consisting of rich, wavering harmonic tones and textures which are intended to be evocative of the colours, climate, topography and relative stillness of the landscapes that Goyder’s Line passes through.

The Fleurieu Peninsula and KI rendered 1:1500 in Minecraft

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The Fleurieu Sound Map project just became really nerdy. Minecraft ‘architect’, lentebriesje is attempting to create the Earth at 1:1500 in Minecraft. So far the USA, South America, Europe and Australia have been created.

The above screengrab is the Fleurieu Peninsula and Kangaroo Island. You can take a running jump over the Lower Lakes near the Murray Mouth.

Fleurieu Sound Map update: Gum Tree Swamp (Cox Scrub CP)

A new addition to the Fleurieu Sound Map.

Listen here.

The Gum Tree Swamp in Cox Scrub Conservation Park is located near the main car park. The recent winter rains have left the swamp swollen with water that extends deep into the scrub and spills over a fire track. In the late afternoon the swamp is teeming with life – Eastern Banjo Frogs, Common Froglets and a variety of birds.

Fleurieu Sound Map update: Sugars Beach

A new addition to the Fleurieu Sound Map.

It’s been awhile since the last FSM update as I’ve been rather busy thee past couple of months with other Fleurieu-centric things happening. Here’s a new addition from Sugars Beach on Hindmarsh Island.

More to come next month.

Dawn has just broken over Hindmarsh Island. I have arrived at Sugars Beach on the south eastern fringe of the island, which overlooks the Murray Mouth and marks the beginning of Coorong National Park and the lower lakes of Alexandrina. The tide is still low and from the beach, a long peninsula of sand extends out about a hundred metres to a larger area where flocks of birds (terns, gulls, pelican, cormorants, shags) are gathering. Every so often a group of birds will launch into the morning sky, filling the air with cries and the beating of wings whilst the distant roar of the Mouth is foregrounded by the gentle ebbing of the morning tide.